


my future isn't bright

by sarcat



Category: Morning Glories
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcat/pseuds/sarcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone manages to get out of the academy, only to realize that they have no idea how to go back to their old lives. Written for the Morning Glories fic-athon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my future isn't bright

His dreams are more frequent now, more detailed in a frighteningly real way. And most nights he'll shoot straight out of bed, eyes searching in the dark for an anchor that will bring his mind more clarity, something that will tell him that he's in the right reality.

_One._ His breathing is still rapid, and he’s uncomfortably warm. Breathe. Breathe. _Two._ He closes his eyes, concentrates on coming down, down. And always, just before his heart returns to a regular rhythm, he sees his mother’s smile and feels a familiar heaviness in his hand that he remembers from the last time he squeezed hers. _Three_. His heart picks right back up, uneven and scared and the terror always forces his eyes back open in the direction of his digital clock. _8:13_. Digits disgustingly red in the darkness, and it takes a lot out of him to try and blink it away. _Four_.

His lips start moving in a whispered bargain in the dark. “Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.”

By the fifth count he’s back. There’s his bed, and those were his hands raking themselves through his red, red hair and pulling just enough to convince himself that he should try looking at the clock again. He eventually does, after half a minute of squeezing them shut so tightly that it takes him an agonizing second to refocus on the dreary red digits once again.   _It’s 3:16_. _Thank, God._

Everything would be fine. Everything could be fine. His hands drop into his lap, back lurching forward in a heavy sigh that claws its way out of his mouth loudly.

And that’s all he can remember before the barrel end of a gun is pointed to his temple.

“Don’t move,” Casey tells him, automatic and unamused, like a completely different person from the one he knew just a few hours before.

“Casey,” he tries once, “Casey, listen, okay?” He hears a thick click and he swallows hard.

“No.”

Casey has her own demons. They follow her in her sleep, and force her fingers around a handgun until he can talk her out of it. _Every night_. He thinks he should be okay with it by now, but it’s a damned gun at his temple and her _almost_ firing it and him holding his breath a lot.

“Fuck. FUCK!”

“You didn’t know. It’s okay. Casey, it’s all gonna be fine. Just put down the gun.”

She always does, lets the gun drop to her side before throwing her head into her hands for the longest time right next to him, their knees still touching underneath the sheets until it’s 5 in the morning again and she can force herself out of their bed.  

“Coffee, Hunter?” she’ll ask, eyes looking everywhere except at him.

“No. It’s still not my thing.”

And she’ll shrug like the two of them are as normal as breathing before she pours her own cup of coffee and starts talking about why she should leave him.

* * *

 

“I haven’t heard from you in a while. I mean, we leave school and we don’t even call each other? How dumb are we? We did so much together, talked…escaped…dodged bullets.”

Jade frowns, cradling her cell phone between her ear and her shoulder, cigarette lit brightly between her fingers.

“Casey, you sound like we’ve been apart for years. It’s only been one.”

“One year and two months,” she corrects, and Jade hears her breathy laughter trail behind it.

“You have my number. You can get to me any time.” It’s the biggest lie she tells herself, much bigger than the one time she nearly convinced herself that she’d seen her mother back alive and breathing and not remembering a thing about her.

“What are you even up to?”

“Work. Lots of work,” Jade assures her, kicking a perfectly polished heel up and over her ankle before leaning into the desk behind her.

“You already have a job? You sound way more accomplished than I am right now,” Casey starts, quieting herself immediately and leaving dead air between them, “Hey, Jade?”

“I’m still here,” Jade responds evenly, bouncing the cigarette between her fingers.

“Maybe we should talk about—“

“Casey, sorry to cut you off, but I have to get back to work. I hope you understand,” Jade cuts in, hoping that the smile she forces on to her face can be felt all the way through the receiver.

“O-oh. Yeah, sure Jade. Maybe just call me back afterwards?”

“Of course! Talk to you later. Don’t be a stranger.” _Click._

It was easier that way. Hearing another goodbye would make this all harder, unbearable. So she thinks about those kinds of things as little as possible. With a simple push, she eases herself off of the desk she’s been lounging on and on to her feet. She sways forward, steps not nearly as wide as she’d like them to be in her grey suit, but she’s adjusting.

She reaches the door, hand turning at the nob before slowly turning her head to look over her shoulder at the empty can of gasoline sitting smugly on top of a single file with the words, “ _FOR A BETTER FUTURE,”_  written bold and black on its cover.

She raises her foot, fingers letting the cigarette fall loosely to the floor, the exhausted light at the end plunging straight into the line of liquid surrounding the entire room. And it catches. She makes sure to watch it spark and flare and rise in varying levels as it drinks up the fuel.

She shouldn’t be happy about this, but as her eyes light up like embers at the sight, she decides to burn it into her memory before closing the door behind her. There’s no better satisfaction.

_There’s a smile somewhere there. It eats out her insides._ Maybe she’ll publish those lines someday.

* * *

 

“Get in the car.” It stops being an offer and becomes a demand far too quickly for his liking.

“Not interested. Maybe put a naked girl or two in there and I’ll reconsider.”

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Get in the car…”

“And again, you are far too rugged for my tastes and wearing too much clothing.”

“I’m your father, and you’ll do exactly as I tell you.”

Ike grins, dropping his head low to the ground and bringing up his shoulders into an exaggerated shrug. “I’ll do exactly as I tell you? Like I haven’t heard that line before. How’d it work out for you the last time you used it? Hmm?”

“Ike, please?”

Ike brings a hand to his jaw, rubbing it over stubble he hasn’t had time or care to remove. He’s been out. Far too busy staying out of things, walking and walking and walking to nowhere. His life is a steady nowhere and now of course he sees his father. Of course he’s here. Of course he suddenly has the urge to see his son, the time.

Ike forces his eyebrows up, face still smug and delighted. “One more time with feeling, and maybe I’ll be generous enough to slap you with a restraining order.”

Abraham grips the steering wheel until his knuckles go white, eyes focused ahead on an empty, steaming road. “It took me weeks to track you down. No one knew where you were or why you had gone. You just left. You don’t even look like you brought anything with you. Are you hungry? Have you been eating? Your face is hallow. Let me feed you!”

But Ike has heard plenty; he’s gotten his fill and finds the hot handle of the car door that’s swung open. With a resounding slam, he allows the car door to separate them once again.

“You’re still not my type.”


End file.
